


Three's Company, Four's a Crowd

by sordes



Series: The Adventures of Ardyn, Prince of Sluts (and the Concubine known as Gilgamesh) [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Blow Jobs, Double Anal Penetration, Exhibitionism, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Hand Jobs, Harems, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 06:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15503871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sordes/pseuds/sordes
Summary: Ardyn rolls onto his stomach and languidly reaches for the ties to Gilgamesh’s pants. “Why else would you follow me here and gawk from the shadows? I took you to be the proactive type.”Gilgamesh steps to the side, out of reach, shaking his head. “You’re in no state—”“I’m in a perfect state of frustration,” Ardyn huffs, pushing himself up on his elbows.“Three weren’t enough for you?”“'Three weren’t enough?’he asks—must I beg? Would that be enough for your ego?”After a long and bloody campaign, Ardyn just wants to lie back, take a load off, and get stuffed with dick. It's really that simple.





	Three's Company, Four's a Crowd

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [AccursedSpatula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/accursedspatula). My thanks (and apologies) for indulging me with this silly series.

_Give it a couple of months,_ he reasons. _Feel it out, see how you like it. You can always leave, go back to the desert, to the hard labor, the unrelenting sun..._

Or, Gilgamesh could stay in the comfort of the royal harem, his every whim and desire cared for and attended to.

When comparing the two options, apples to apples, really it wasn’t much of a decision at all. The harem it is.

Ardyn is many things, but a liar he is not. He hadn’t over exaggerated in the least how resplendent the harem is, how easy and comfortable the accommodations are, and even how beautiful each of the concubines who lives here indeed is. Safely tucked away in the innermost sanctum of the palace, Gilgamesh just gapes in awe at the enormous fountains, immense gardens, and strutting peacocks, to name a few of the most obvious features, when he first arrives and is deposited for safekeeping. Hours later, scrubbed free of dirt from the road, belly full of exotic delicacies, and dressed in fine silks that seemed perfectly tailored to Gilgamesh's form, he sits awaiting his prince, eager to please.

Only Gilgamesh would stay waiting for hours—hours turning to days, days to weeks, weeks to months. Ardyn never comes for him. He had just added Gilgamesh to his stable (one in which nearly all of the stallions eerily resembled Gilgamesh's own looks, he had to admit—not a slovenly blond among them) and forgot about him.

The indignation of it all continues to eat at Gilgamesh like acid, even after months of easy living.

Gilgamesh tries his best to catch Ardyn’s eye at first, when he visits the harem. Tries to charm him, remind Ardyn _why_ he chose him in the first place. But it’s always for naught.

Ardyn always gives him that same passé look, the same he gives every other stud, save the one (or two) he ends up leading back deeper into the harem to fuck. It’s a look of tepid recognition, distant in that way that makes Gilgamesh feel that Ardyn has completely forgotten his name.

It’s gobsmacking, how cold and distant Ardyn is now, when just some nights ago he was urging Gilgamesh to fuck him harder and deeper, putty in his hands. Well, maybe not _quite_ putty, but he certainly liked Gilgamesh well enough to bring him back here. So why, exactly, Ardyn gives him the cold shoulder now is unfathomable to Gilgamesh.

It was enough to make him draw blood from biting his inner cheek so hard the first few times Ardyn slighted him.

At first, Gilgamesh simply thinks the prince is playing hard to get. He entreats him with flowers, with the rough sort of banter Ardyn seemed to find so charming at their first meeting. Both gestures are met with awkward silence. Figuring a more physical approach is his next best option, Gilgamesh then takes a page out of the resident peacocks’ books and puts himself on display each time Ardyn comes to visit. Shirtless, sweaty from practicing with wooden practice sword, Gilgamesh parades himself around Ardyn’s vicinity, hoping his muscles and musk will grab the prince’s attention. Yet even this fails to work.

On one occasion Gilgamesh is lucky enough to get the prince sequestered for a few minutes and, half-crazed with a jealous fixation, pins him against one of the massive stone pillars and brings him into a wet, needy kiss. Ardyn returns it placidly, then pats Gilgamesh’s cheek when they part, as if he’s no more than the mischievous but ever lovable family dog. Gilgamesh is torn between wanting to jump Ardyn on the spot, rut against him and show him what he’d been missing, and strangling him as he walks away to find his chosen concubine for the evening.

Finally, Gilgamesh settles on playing it cool. If Ardyn is to ignore him, fine. Two can play at that game. Yet instead of Ardyn coming to seek out his now rescinded affections, the plan backfires magnificently. It’s as if they had never shared that night of passion and begrudging affection—like it never happened at all. It’s enough to make Gilgamesh to mad with confused jealousy.

And then, all at once Ardyn’s frequent visits to the harem simply stop.

The rest of the men don’t question it and are content to fill their days with leisure, much as they would do otherwise, with or without Ardyn’s visitations. They continue to eat and drink and lounge and on occasion spar (without real weapons, of course) to keep lean and in shape. On even rarer occasions they even fuck, the invitation extended to Gilgamesh but always declined. This whole business leaves such a foul taste in Gilgamesh’s mouth that his cock had no desire to rise. Lying with others that bare an uncanny resemblance to him also puts a damper on things, to be sure.

Gilgamesh should just put his gripes to rest, let himself indulge in his new lifestyle and simply be idle and foolish like the others. But he’s unable to do so, unable to accept this reality of being locked up and fight off the inkling fear that the key’s been thrown away. Instead, Gilgamesh just let his anger fester. He tells himself the next time the crown prince dares show his face, he’ll show him what’s what. He’ll make Ardyn regret tossing him aside. Gilgamesh will have his (albeit petty) revenge.

Ardyn’s reappearance nearly six months after his last showing comes all so suddenly, though, that Gilgamesh hardly has time to react.

The prince’s glorious return is heralded by Kemsit, his ever loyal body slave, though the man of the hour himself is hot on her heels.

“Line up! Present yourselves to your prince!” Kemsit bellows with a volume incredibly disproportionate to a woman of her size. Though she looks old, she moves with the fluidity of a woman still in her prime; there’s not a shred of feebleness in her.

All around him the fellow concubines scramble to their feet, some noticeably guilty after letting themselves go for these six months, and Gilgamesh can see them sucking in their stomachs with varying degrees of success. Putting them to death for ‘ruining’ their perfect bodies seems extreme for Ardyn, but then again, who can say just what goes on in that dangerous head of his. Gilgamesh follows the others and takes his place in the lineup. While he has no need to suck in his stomach, he does flex his abs and chest, eager to show Ardyn just what he’s missed after being gone for so long.

Ardyn doesn’t even cast a glance in his direction when he does appear, slender arms crossed in front of his chest.

He looks tired, Gilgamesh notes, perhaps from another long trek across the desert. Thankfully, though, it doesn’t seem as if another one of Gilgamesh’s kin has been brought back as a souvenir. Ardyn’s hair is a bit longer now, tied back in a loose braid, and his relatively simple attire is coated in a fine dusting of sand from the road.

Despite the snub already, Gilgamesh can’t help but laugh at the idea that Ardyn’s first stop after completing his journey is not to the baths, but to the harem.

Though Ardyn doesn’t pay him the time of day, Kemsit does. She pokes Gilgamesh squarely in the gut with a bony finger. “Can’t say I’m happy to see you’re still here.” Gilgamesh opens his mouth to offer a blistering retort, only for Kemsit to jab her finger in deeper. “Don’t. Even.”

Ardyn huffs and chooses three men from the lineup—again, not batting an eyelid in Gilgamesh’s direction. “Have them washed and readied, Kemsit. Quickly now.”

Kemsit withdraws her finger and is off, trailing behind Ardyn but never falling out of step, as he speeds deeper into the sanctum to the baths, travel clothes twirling behind him.

Gilgamesh curses himself twice─once for letting the opportunity to take Ardyn down a peg pass him by, and a second time for feeling that spark of desire shoot straight down to his cock at the redheaded prince’s detached brusqueness. He shouldn’t want Ardyn after all he’s been put through, shelved and forgotten. He really, really shouldn’t.

But gods be damned, he does.

While the other unchosen disperse back to their cushions and fruit platters—some off to get in a few rounds of exercise to burn off their bellies—Gilgamesh finds himself slinking behind pillars in pursuit of the prince. The sun is just starting to set, casting dramatic inky blue shadows behind which Gilgamesh hides. The innermost sanctum where Ardyn usually lies with his picks is not off limits per say, but Gilgamesh doesn’t want to be spotted and tossed out by Kemsit. Not before he’s caught another glimpse of Ardyn, at least.

Gilgamesh follows the sound of splashing till he comes to the baths. It’s a fairly quaint setup, in comparison to the splendor of the rest of the harem, completely utilitarian in its design, housing a single rectangular pool, deep enough for the water to come up to Ardyn’s shoulders. Gilgamesh lingers behind a mosaic covered wall, daring only to catch brief glimpses around it here and there.

Ardyn’s dusty clothes lie in a heap before the pool, discarded in one go. The prince himself is scrubbing his body down with a sponge—clearly eager to get the cleaning done with and be on with the main event. Kemsit, oddly, is nowhere to be found.

Gilgamesh has to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything or making his presence known. A task of great difficulty given how fine and beautiful Ardyn looks in the warm light of the setting sun. The light glitters across the surface of the clear water and catches on the droplets that cling to Ardyn’s white neck, giving him an almost otherworldly look. His chest, though still smooth and unmarred, looks broader now. A trick of the light or simply the cause of Gilgamesh’s faulty memory he cannot say, but he does think for certain that Ardyn has changed during his time away doing gods know what.

Pulling back quick to conceal himself, Gilgamesh holds his breath as Ardyn exits the pool, water dripping down his milky thighs and supple calves. There’s no awaiting towel or robe but this doesn’t seem to bother him in the least. Ardyn sidesteps his discarded travel clothes and, braid plastered to his back, exits the baths with his head raised high as if he were draped in gold.

He walks right past Gilgamesh on his way to the meeting room, as it’s affectionately called. Gilgamesh ogles his rear end all the while, from the roundness of his ass cheeks to the dimples just above them on his lower back. It would really be a lot easier to give Ardyn a piece of his mind if he didn’t find him so horrendously sexy.

Gilgamesh still has enough of his wits about him to follow at a distance, ducking behind pillars and palm fronds as needed to conceal his presence. He slips into the meeting room, past the sheer, downy curtains and conceals himself behind a few large potted papyrus. Gilgamesh is no stranger to this room, but it looks transformed in this context.

The looming promise of sex weighs heavily in the air like ozone before a thunderstorm. So thick Gilgamesh can almost taste it. Candles and oil lamps light the airy chamber, in the center of which a large bed is arranged. Mounded with pillows and silken sheets, it’s large enough for many to play at once, which given Ardyn’s selection of three concubines on this night means the bed’s capacity will be put to good use.

Gilgamesh holds his breath as Kemsit strides in, a platter of ripe mango and grapes and an amphorae in hand. Blessedly she doesn’t pick up on his presence and sets down the goodies near the bed. Kemsit pours Ardyn a healthy cup of wine without being prompted and Ardyn takes it from her with nary a glance.

“That is all,” he says in Kemsit’s direction, but not necessarily to her. “You may leave.”

Kemsit rolls her eyes. “Don’t over exert yourself.”

Ardyn sets down his cup after taking a deep pull. “I’d never.” He claps his hands twice and the three chosen concubines enter from another doorway, noticeably washed and primped to some extent. Standing shoulder to shoulder they’re an impressive bunch, oiled brown skin glistening in the candlelight, black hair freshly combed and shining. Each is just as nude as the next—little desire or need for ceremony here.

Kemsit makes her exit, Gilgamesh again holding his breath as she passes, and blessedly he goes unnoticed once more. Gilgamesh lets out a soft sigh of relief and turns his attentions back to Ardyn who, naked as the day he entered this world, plucks a grape from the platter and places it in his mouth.

“I’m of a mind to completely lose myself tonight.” Ardyn takes another grape from the platter and rounds the bed slowly to his awaiting concubines. Slowly, he rubs the plump grape over his lower lip while tracing his free hand across the muscular chests of his selections. “Do you understand?” One of the men takes Ardyn by the bicep as he pops the grape into his mouth.

Gilgamesh considers leaving. It’s not as if he can just interrupt now and shame Ardyn for his wanton ways. His own behavior is pathetic, Gilgamesh thinks, skulking in the shadows like a jilted, jealous lover. But he can’t budge from his place behind the plant, his feet seemingly cemented in place, eyes transfixed on the scene before him.

The concubine who grabbed Ardyn’s arm—’Beardy’ as Gilgamesh has taken to calling him due to the impressive length of his braided beard—lowers himself onto the massive bed, pulling Ardyn down with him. Beardy hauls Ardyn back further, arranging him between his spread legs. Ardyn remains supple and pliable as Beardy ghosts his hands up and down his chest, even bites his lower lip when Beardy slowly circles his nipples. There’s a flush on Ardyn’s cheeks now that never quite manifested for Gilgamesh before, something that both frustrates and stuns Gilgamesh.

Seems as if Ardyn’s long sojourn was not nearly so ‘active’ as Gilgamesh had thought.

The other two concubines—Pony Cock (as someone who reserves the title of ‘horse cock’ for himself, ‘pony cock’ is the best Gilgamesh will begrudge him) and Lucky (given his charmingly rugged eyepatch)—enter the fray shortly after, climbing onto the bed and shuffling toward Ardyn on their knees, drawn in like moths to a flame. Ardyn arches his back against Beardy as the other two ghost their broad hands up his legs, as if this is all some choreographed dance. The movements feel too perfect to be unrehearsed, but by the same measure Ardyn’s reactions feel genuine for once. His breathy moans and involuntary twitches and spasms send a jolt straight down to Gilgamesh’s cock. Quickly, he feels far too overdressed.

Lucky swings himself over and slots himself between Ardyn’s legs and leaves a trail of sloppy licks and kisses down Ardyn’s chest to his groin as he palms and squeezes Ardyn’s cock. Pony Cock, meanwhile, brings Ardyn’s hand to his own sizeable cock and coaxes Ardyn to pump himself to hardness. Not to be forgotten, Beardy turns Ardyn’s head to the side and brings him into a deep, open-mouthed kiss.

Ardyn moans freely and lewdly, his attention split between all the sensory delights around him. If the sounds of suction from Lucky’s mouth are any indication it doesn’t take long for Ardyn to get hard. The prince breaks off the kiss with Beardy just so he can reach behind him and presumably begin to stroke him off, too. Foreplay is clearly not high on the list of priorities tonight.

Just as they seem to fall into an easy rhythm the dance changes.

Pony Cock and Beardy pull back, the latter hoisting Ardyn up onto his knees. Pony Cock backs up and off the bed, pulling Ardyn to the edge by the arm. It’s not wholly rough but it’s not gentle either, and Ardyn lets himself be tugged and arranged this way and that without objection. Beardy follows Pony Cock and stand at the corner of the bed, Ardyn between them.

Gilgamesh wants to look away at what happens next, but his knees lock up, his hands wrench the front of his tunic—he’s in far too deep to stop now.

Without being urged or prompted, Ardyn simultaneously fists both awaiting cocks, and pumps them eagerly, easing down the early droplets of precome down their respective lengths for lubrication. Pony Cock takes a fistful of Ardyn’s hair and pulls him towards him, a clear indication of what’s to come next. True to form, Ardyn doesn’t skip a beat. Still pumping Beardy, Ardyn parts his lips around the tip of Pony Cock’s cock, bobs his head as he sucks it eagerly.

Pony Cock is big, Gilgamesh gives him that much, and quickly he’s overfilling Ardyn’s hand and distending his cheek. Gilgamesh still maintains to himself that he’s bigger, girthier, but still, if the sight doesn’t recall memories of a sordid night half a year ago… minus the other two cocks, of course.

Not content with just Ardyn’s hand, Beardy urges him to give his cock a taste and unsurprisingly, Ardyn is more than obliging. Before he can get too absorbed in his work, however, Lucky grabs Ardyn by the hips and encourages him to widen his stance. Lucky must have some slick at his side as he swipes his fingers through something obscured from view before settling in on his stomach.

Even the completely uninitiated when it comes to sex would have little difficulty imagining just what Lucky is doing to Ardyn, despite the blocked view, given the flush that suddenly overtakes Ardyn’s face and the choked moan he releases. Gilgamesh nearly knocks over the pot right then and there, jealousy threatening to burn a hole in his stomach at this rate. He can only imagine how tight Ardyn’s hole is, squeezing and resisting Lucky’s intrusion, how hot he is inside. Ardyn’s expression is a mix of blissed out and hungry as he trades off between the cocks before him and wiggles his ass at Lucky, his own cock now hanging low between his thighs.

By the time Ardyn’s lips are red from use and shiny with precome, the concubines share a knowing look and again the position changes. Beardy turns Ardyn around and eases him onto his hands and knees as Lucky scoots out of the way. He’s offering Beardy the shallow dish of slick a beat later, which Beardy accepts and drizzles down over Ardyn’s ass. Working like a well-oiled machine, Pony Cock accepts the empty dish and sets it aside on the floor as he eases down, back to the side of the bed, and begins to stroke Ardyn off.

Beardy rakes his dull fingernails up and down Ardyn’s flank and thighs before testing the give of his pink hole with his thumb. Now Ardyn’s back glistens in the candlelight, though not from oil but sweat. His damp braid hangs over on shoulder and several long, loose strands cling to his pale skin. Ardyn keens with every breath as Beardy works him open and Pony Cock strokes him off. Not one to be left out for long, Lucky quiets Ardyn’s cries with his own cock, tugging his head up to take him into his mouth.

Satisfied, Beardy pulls back and gives himself a cursory tug. He must be hard enough as not a beat later he's spreading Ardyn’s cheeks wide and aligning his hips. There's a dreadful weight of tension in the room, Gilgamesh unconsciously holding his breath, as Beardy pistons himself inside, groaning at the tight resistance. Ardyn, for his part, moans lowly around Lucky’s cock and white knuckles the sheets, already mussed and damp with perspiration.

The tension doesn’t let up until Beardy is hilted, his balls slapping dully against Ardyn’s. Beardy, Ardyn, _and_ Gilgamesh let out a collective sigh of relief. By now Gilgamesh’s trousers are unbearably tight but he can do little but grit his teeth and bear it. For all his previous spitfire, Gilgamesh is mired in place now, incapable of doing little else but stare.

The smell of sweat and sex is inescapable now, heady and swirling all around the room. Beardy gives a few shallow, experimental thrusts but by now there’s no doubt about it—going slow is simply not the game of the game. Gripping Ardyn’s hips tightly, Beardy works himself up to a steady pace, thrusting smooth and deep. Lucky has to hold Ardyn’s head up by the jaw as he in turn thrusts into it, Ardyn’s muscles threatening to go completely slack with each passing moment.

In time Pony Cock leaves his post on the floor and joins Lucky, bringing one of Ardyn’s hands to his thick cock. This seems to give Ardyn a second wind of sorts, and he trades his mouth and hand between the two cocks before him freely. He’s greedy, insatiable even, and it takes nearly everything Gilgamesh has to stop himself from palming himself through his trousers.

They fall into an easy rhythm, Ardyn taking cock and dividing his attentions between the two before him like the seasoned champ he is. In time that familiar detached amusement materializes in Ardyn’s features; he’s no longer so sensitive and so overwhelmed. Arching his back and using the two concubines before him to push himself up, Ardyn runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “More.”

The concubines spring into action at the one-word command like well trained dogs.

Beardy pulls out in one fluid motion as Pony Cock lowers himself onto his back. Ardyn swings a leg over to straddle his hips and rakes his blunt fingernails up and down the broad, muscular chest before him. The others hang back momentarily as Ardyn raises himself onto his knees while Pony Cock holds his own rigid length upright, and then Ardyn slowly spears himself on it, sighing as he sinks down.

Knees bent and pressed into the tangle of sheets, Ardyn lightly grinds his hips, sighing at the new sense of fullness. That’s not to imply Beardy is a small man—on the contrary, Gilgamesh is convinced cock size is at the top of Ardyn’s list when scouting new studs—but in comparison to the blunt thickness of Pony Cock? They’re almost two different species.

Pony Cock almost affectionately, almost _territorially_ , cups Ardyn’s chin and pulls him down into a lewd, wet kiss. With Ardyn distracted by the embrace, Lucky makes his approach from behind.

Gilgamesh almost wants to cry out a warning—this _can’t_ be going where he thinks it’s going. Yet much like his legs, Gilgamesh finds his own voice is useless, his mouth dry and throat tight. This has to be yet another step in the well-choreographed dance, but still, it makes Gilgamesh’s heart pound faster and his palms dampen with sweat.

Lucky smooths his hands down Ardyn’s pale, sweat streaked back and settles on his asscheeks. Squeezing and pulling, Lucky gets an excellent view of just how full of cock Ardyn is, and after swiping his fingers through the dish of slick offered by Beardy just in time, proceeds to tease at Ardyn’s hole.

Ardyn groans into the kiss, his hands now tight on Pony Cock’s hairy pectorals. Lucky takes his time, toying with Ardyn’s ass, rubbing his cock over Ardyn’s milky, soft skin, cupping and fondling his balls. Only when Lucky senses that Ardyn’s ready does he fulfill his order, aligning his hips with Ardyn’s already full hole. Assisting, Pony Cock pulls Ardyn slightly forward by the biceps, enabling Lucky to slot his tip inside.

There’s no way it’ll fit—there’s no way in hell.

Knowing Ardyn, Gilgamesh really shouldn’t be this surprised (and impressed) when it does, though. Still. He’s gobsmacked.

Ardyn’s digging his fingernails into Pony Cock’s chest, his face contorted in parts pain and pleasure. Pony Cock reaches up and pushes away the sweaty locks of hair obstructing both parties’ views as Lucky runs his hands down Ardyn’s back and flank. The concubines are tender for a time, hips stationary, soothing and checking Ardyn, giving him ample time to acclimate to the stretch and fullness. Beardy, too, joins in, sliding his broad hand up Ardyn’s chest, circling his nipples with his thumb.

Ardyn nods, sweat-slick locks hanging about his face, signaling he’s ready—or as ready as he’ll ever be. This is clearly a somewhat practiced maneuver for him, it’s not his first time being filled so, but there’s an undeniable line of tension holding his spine tight. Ardyn whimpers, even, as Lucky moves his hips experimentally, his cock sliding against Pony Cock’s. For a moment there Gilgamesh thinks Ardyn will call it off, that he’ll segue the others into another step, another dance.

Gilgamesh nearly kicks himself for doubting Ardyn after everything.

Ardyn tosses his head back, and though he’s facing away from Gilgamesh now, Gilgamesh knows the cockslut is grinning. Beardy rejoins the fray, standing on the bed to Pony Cock’s side, and offers Ardyn his cock, which the prince eagerly accepts into his mouth.

But even the prince of sluts has his limits.

With Lucky and Pony Cock working at him relentlessly, it’s only a matter of time before the stretch and fullness become almost too much to bear and Ardyn can no longer focus on attending to Beardy’s cock. Slack jawed and stupid with pleasure, Ardyn is on the verge of collapsing then and there, reduced to a heap knowing only his most base and primal of urges: breathing and taking cock.

Ardyn moans and keens, limp and overwhelmed, as the concubines work him thoroughly. Not a single detail is overlooked, the utmost of care behind both their caresses and thrusts. In time, Lucky reaches down and pulls Ardyn upright, holding him flush against his chest. Beardy uses the opening to slide down and take Ardyn into his mouth, the added stimulus earning a choked moan from Ardyn.

Pony Cock seems to come first, his hips juttering up haphazardly, but he remains inside of Ardyn as Lucky too makes his mad dash to the finish line. They pull out together only after both have come, the wet squelching sound making the hairs on the back of Gilgamesh’s neck stand on end. Gently they help Ardyn down onto his side where Lucky takes to stroking Ardyn. With Ardyn too far gone to be of much help to Beardy’s still hard cock, the man simply takes to finishing himself off with his hand a few practiced tugs later, and loses himself on Ardyn’s smooth stomach.

When it’s all over—Ardyn having gone completely tense and rigid before losing himself in Lucky’s hand, a broken cry accompanying his orgasm—an unnatural silence descends on the room. If anything, the sexual tension in the room should have evaporated, with Ardyn’s appetite now sated. And yet the haze lingers like a cloying smoke in one of the palace’s kitchens.

All parties present are still for a time, catching their respective breaths. In time, the concubines peel themselves away from Ardyn and the sticky bedding, sweating and glowing from their hard work. Each bends down to kiss Ardyn as they leave, gentle and timid even, as if afraid to leave him in such a state. Ardyn’s eyes remain closed, his chest rising and falling deeply and steadily, skin flushed and wet and sticky. Single file the concubines exit the room, no doubt to thoroughly clean themselves then collapse into their own deep slumber. Gilgamesh knows Kemsit will soon return to help wash her prince, and that he, too, must make his exit and deal with the pressing issue in his own trousers.

Before he can even coerce his stiff knees into cooperating, though, Ardyn’s voice rings out through the chamber, surprisingly clear and hale in spite of everything.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure, Gilgamesh?”

Really, getting caught was an inevitability. It’s not as if a potted plant could _truly_ conceal a man of Gilgamesh’s size. Still, the question sends a jolt of fear down Gilgamesh’s spine and he can do little but step away from the plant like a guilty child, heels and shins sore from standing so long.

“Your Majesty,” he says, clearing his throat and finding his voice gravelly and rough after its disuse.

Ardyn perks his head up from the bed, eyes scanning up and down Gilgamesh’s body. “Come here,” he says finally, his head falling back to the bed with a soft _plop_.

With little else to do but obey, Gilgamesh approaches. Up close the flush on Ardyn’s skin is remarkable, and his pupils are wide and nearly black. He’s still trying to catch his breath, but there’s that familiar hunger in his gaze and body language that sends a spark to Gilgamesh’s already achingly hard cock.

“I see you enjoyed the show.”

Gilgamesh’s arousal is hardly difficult to miss, but being called out on it makes him clasp his wrist in front of his groin. A futile attempt to protect his own modesty when the prince lies fucked and prone before him.

Gilgamesh clears his throat again. “Do you need refreshment? Should I call Kemsit?”

“Why, when we’re not done here? Clearly.”

“You _cannot_ be serious.”

Ardyn rolls onto his stomach and languidly reaches for the ties to Gilgamesh’s pants. “Why else would you follow me here and gawk from the shadows? I took you to be the proactive type.”

Gilgamesh steps to the side, out of reach, shaking his head. “You’re in no state—”

“I’m in a perfect state of frustration,” Ardyn huffs, pushing himself up on his elbows.

“Three weren’t enough for you?”

“’ _Three weren’t enough?’_ he asks—must I beg? Would that be enough for your ego?”

There are certainly worse things than Ardyn begging to be fucked, Gilgamesh thinks. Shaking his head, Gilgamesh lets out an exasperated sound. “Fine. Beg.” He eases himself down on the edge of the bed (avoiding a large wet patch), just outside of Ardyn’s reach. “Tell me why you ignored me for six months. Why I was never good enough, until now.”

Ardyn pouts, crawling closer. “I can’t play favorites; the others would get jealous.” His voice is dripping with honey sweetness—an entirely new persona Gilgamesh has yet to experience. It’s odd, almost, and he finds himself missing the demanding cockslut he first came to know.

“And I can’t just partake in my favorite cock _all_ the time—it would lose its specialness! Some things are best enjoyed in small doses.”

“ _Favorite?_ ” Gilgamesh snorts. Ardyn’s gilded words certainly are enticing, but he’s wise enough to remain leery of that serpent tongue and scoots out of reach.

“They weren’t enough, Gilgamesh. I _need_ you, _need_ you inside of me like you were all those nights ago,” he continues. “You want me to beg? I’ll beg.” Ardyn makes one more futile attempt to reach for Gilgamesh’s crotch—a maneuver easily dodged by sliding further away. “ _Gilgamesh please_ ,” he whines.

Gilgamesh kicks himself for wanting to give Ardyn what he so badly desires. For wanting to just flip him over and pound him deep into the mattress until neither can think straight. His own guts roil with an animal need to fuck Ardyn until not a trace of the others remain, to assert that this needy, petulant slut is his and his alone.

Ardyn’s desperate grab for his cock knocks Gilgamesh from his thoughts, however, and he makes up his mind. If Ardyn is to get what he so badly wants, Gilgamesh is going to make him work for it. It’s not enough to make up for six months of idleness, but it’s a start.

“Show me how much you want me to fuck you,” Gilgamesh says, his voice regaining its lost clarity. “Use your fingers.”

Ardyn tilts his head to the side coyly, a smile teasing at his lips. “I though you’d have had enough of watching by now.”

Gilgamesh shrugs and gets to his feet, doing his best to mask the wince at his straining erection. “Appears as if my services aren’t so needed after all.” It’s a risky move, Gilgamesh admits. Ardyn could easily decide it’s not worth losing face over, abandon the whole proposition, and go back to his ways of completely ignoring him.

Before he can take but a pace away from the bed, however, Ardyn plays into his hand.

“Wait. Don’t be like that.”

Chuckling lightly, Gilgamesh turns on the balls of his feet. “Change of heart?”

Ardyn seductively bites his lower lip. “Don’t be so cold.” Slowly he rolls onto his back, the shine of his own finish on his smooth stomach catching the candlelight. Tousled locks splay out over the bedding as Ardyn ghosts his fingers down his chest, over his ribcage, to his pelvis as he spreads his legs wide. “I miss you. I want you. Is that enough to bring you back to my bed?” Ardyn’s cock lies inert against his stomach, his fingers skating past it down to his hole.

Ardyn rubs a single digit around his rim, red and puffy from use, a sheen of slick and finish to it. His breath hitches as he teases himself, rubbing that finger in an unhurried circle around the loosened ring of muscle. Gilgamesh isn’t quite sure if the sighs and moans are genuine or for show—the truth somewhere in between perhaps—but he’s drawn in all the same, his ass finding the edge of the bed while his attentions remained honed in on the display before him.

Reaching down with his other hand, Ardyn holds himself open, the pull exposing the telltale gloss of another man’s finish streaked around his hole and inner thigh. “How did you feel, watching the others fuck me?”

 _Jealous. Awed. Hornier than he’s ever been in his life._ Gilgamesh thinks all of the above but stays mum.

Dragging a finger through the white mess, Ardyn recoats his hole, twitching and sensitive and slightly swollen from use. “I know how I felt, knowing you were watching me.” He sighs as he presses a finger at his rim, the muscle resisting slightly then allowing for entry. “I was thinking to myself the whole time, ‘When is he going to come and show them how it’s done?’”

Gilgamesh’s hands tighten into fists on the tops of his thighs. His eyes wander freely from Ardyn’s wanton expression over his tense stomach and now half-hard cock. Roving up and down the whipcord muscles in Ardyn’s thighs to his pointed toes, Gilgamesh’s gaze finally settles on the show Ardyn’s giving him. He swallows hard. “You could have said something.”

Ardyn laughs softly as he drives that finger in deeper to the second knuckle. “And what, spoil the fun you were having? Subterfuge for a man of your size—” He hisses as he presses in deeper to the third knuckle, the fit clearly not difficult but still snug and Ardyn himself still sensitive. “I figured it’s not something you often get to experience.”

The nearly painful throbbing of his cock between his legs keeps Gilgamesh from feeling the brunt of embarrassment at that comment. Oh, he’ll be licking his wounds for nights to come at the ridiculous image of himself, plain as day, standing behind the potted plant, but for now everything is pleasantly muted in his head. “I’ve had a lot of firsts since meeting you,” Gilgamesh admits, his voice husky.

Ardyn hums lightly, drawing his finger in, and out, slowly. “I wasn’t the first man you bedded.”

“And with any luck you won’t be the last.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ardyn pulls out his finger, teases his hole with the tips of two briefly, then presses them back inside. “You make it sound as if you want to leave me.”

Gilgamesh tilts his head—in part to contemplate his answer and also get a better view. “You seem to have been getting along just fine without my help. Idleness doesn’t suit me.”

Working his fingers in a slow circle, Ardyn sighs lightly, twisting his head in the sheets for emphasis. “So don’t be idle—give me what I’m asking for.” With Gilgamesh’s inaction, he continues to fuck himself deep and steady. There’s a soft squelching sound from his fingers and the mix of lubricant, and Ardyn’s knees tremble ever so slightly as he works himself.

“Your fingers are better,” he moans. “Thicker, rougher.” He eases in a third, slender finger for emphasis, dipping all three in deep to the third knuckle then all the way out, back and forth. “But your cock—”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Gilgamesh tears his eyes away from Ardyn’s display to see his face rosy with a renewed flush. “Fingers first.”

Pouting slightly, Ardyn jams his three digits in deep. He’s probing for his prostate, a task made easier with a different angle (and apparatus), desperate for more stimulation. “Even though it was our first—”

“And _only_.”

“—and _only_ time together, you immediately knew where to touch, where to tease.” Ardyn groans in frustration. “You’re the only one who can give me what I need.”

“Seems like the others did a pretty good job with you, though.”

“An idle distraction.” Ardyn continues to explore himself, a fresh sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. “An amusement I thought would be enough to satisfy, but it wasn’t. It never is. Not since—”

His thoughts are interrupted by a high, shaky moan, his fingers finding their target. Cock visibly stirring where it lays against his smooth stomach, Ardyn certainly is a sight to behold now. A weaker man would be all over him, unable to keep his hands to himself. And while Gilgamesh isn’t quite at the stage of needing to _sit_ on his hands to keep them in place, he can feel his own guard coming down piece by piece. Still, he has enough of his wits about him yet to continue pressing. “Not since what?”

Ardyn twists onto his side slightly, face buried in the bedding. He’s fighting to keep his thighs open and failing, losing himself to his own pleasure. His fingers haven’t stopped moving, working in staccato thrusts. It’s all so endearing, really; watching the prince come undone on his own fingers.

“Ardyn.” Gilgamesh invokes his name, pulling him back from the hazy pleasure clouding his mind. “Answer me. Not since what?”

“Not since I got a taste of your cock!” Ardyn’s beyond exasperated, reeling from his own touch, hungry and desperate for more.

While it’s not exactly the time for bragging, Gilgamesh can’t help but puff himself up a bit at that. In his heart of hearts he doubts the sincerity of Ardyn’s words—they were, after all, given in a state of duress. For all he knows this could be a well-practiced speech, a ploy he uses for only the most obstinate objects of his lust, but still. It never hurts to be wanted so.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” Ardyn barrels on, now fucking himself hard with his fingers, thighs quivering as he struggles to hold them open. “Fuck me hard, Gilgamesh, fuck me until I can’t see straight.”

Gilgamesh cocks an eyebrow. “You seem to be doing a good enough job of it all on your own.” True enough Ardyn’s blown out pupils look hazy, unfocused. He’s fighting to stay coherent, too, his voice thick and words starting to slur and mix with one another.

“ _Gilgamesh_.” Ardyn works himself with the base cupidity of a starving beggar dancing for a scrap of bread. Anything, _anything_ to get what he needs. It’s beyond ‘want’ at this point, from the way Ardyn nearly sobs when he twists and fingers just so. Hair clings to Ardyn’s cheeks, damp with sweat and tears, his cockhead gleams with fresh precome, smearing against the planes of his stomach as he writhes and grinds down on his fingers.

It would be easy— _too easy_ —to tear open his trousers, haul Ardyn up, and drive his cock right in. Though most of Gilgamesh’s being is focused on Ardyn and his frenzied display, like ever-present dull ache in his groin keeps him somewhat grounded. Alleviating that discomfort is certainly high on his to-do list. But in the back of his head—even his sex-cry addled head—is the constant sting of Ardyn’s mistreatment of him.

So, with great difficulty, and great pride, Gilgamesh pushes himself up and steps away from the bed. It takes Ardyn a moment to realize he’s going, yet his fingers don’t slow in the slightest. His keening is high and sweet, a true siren’s call, Gilgamesh thinks to himself, but now that he’s standing he feels more in control than he did a minute ago. “Your fervor is certainly endearing,” Gilgamesh says slowly, relishing in the power-play. “But frankly, as badly as you _need_ me, truth is I don’t need you.”

There’s a flash in Ardyn’s golden eyes—an attempt to regain enough sense to counter the grievous insult, the implication that his ardor is unwanted, unrequited—but it’s only a flinty spark. Not enough to take hold and wash the haze out from those blown-out pupils, not enough to stop Ardyn from fucking himself on his fingers and use that crafty tongue of his to coerce Gilgamesh into obeying.

Gilgamesh offers a mocking bow, suppressing the wince at his groin. “I’ll let Kemsit know you’ll be a while yet—though not too long, by the looks of it.”

Thirty-some odd years on this planet and Gilgamesh didn’t know until now that this feeling of satisfaction was possible. Ardyn does cry out after him, a mix of pleading and threats, but he makes no attempt to give pursuit; his legs are probably about as function as a newborn foal’s at this point. Gilgamesh strides out from the room, adjusting the sash around his waist to better accommodate his raging hard-on, and doesn’t look back once.

If this is how Ardyn carries himself most days—like the whole world is at his beck and call—then _damn._ Words can’t even begin to describe how amazing Gilgamesh feels as he steps back into the cool night air and makes a beeline to his chambers to await his fate.

While he’s never heard of a concubine being put to the sword, there’s always a first time for everything, Gilgamesh supposes. Grinning to himself, Gilgamesh is at the very least comforted by the fact that while Ardyn’s swords may do him in, he did inflict significant damage to the prince’s ego first.

\---

A week passes before there’s any indication of what Gilgamesh’s fate is to be.

It’s an uneasy week. First marked by the afterglow of his incredible defiance—his fellow concubines urge him to tell and retell the story until fact and the little embellishments he’s added along the way meld into one. But the afterglow fades and is replaced with a hollow anxiousness. The harem is too quiet, the palace, too. Ardyn’s absence is palpable, though knowing that he’s _somewhere_ nearby, and not a country away, keeps Gilgamesh from sleeping soundly at night and his stomach from rousing at the sight and smell of food.

For all intents and purposes life is normal, unchanged and uninterrupted by Gilgamesh’s little rebellion.

Deep down Gilgamesh knows the hammer is bound to fall sometime, but when? This must be a doing at the kingdom’s head torturer's advice—keep your subject waiting and wondering. An added form of psychological torture performed with absolutely zero effort on the part of the prince.

He’s a diabolical genius through and through.

Exactly one week on the dot of his slight, Gilgamesh is called back to the innermost chamber of the harem. Enough time has passed that to be honest, Gilgamesh fears for his life, his blind and stupid pride worn away by days of silence.

He half expects to find Ardyn waiting for him, intending either to finish last week’s business or behead him. If not Ardyn than Kemist, brimming with glee to give Gilgamesh his walking orders either back to the desert or to the gallows. Instead, Gilgamesh comes face to face with a trio he’s never seen in his life.

The first is a journeyman, by the looks of him, and he’s stirring up a mixture of something white and viscous in a wide clay bowl. The second, observing the consistency of the mixture, looks a bit older in years, knuckles thick and enlarged; the hands of a craftsman of some sorts. The third, well, the third makes Gilgamesh’s heartbeat pick up a few beats faster.

She’s a shapely young thing, auburn locks cascading over her shoulder and falling just shy of her pert breasts, which are perfectly exposed. A loose skirt is tied round her waist, the fabric sheer and airy. Lips turned up in a sweet smile, her warm, honey eyes find him, and gods, Gilgamesh is lost in her beauty for an awkwardly long beat. Men, women—Gilgamesh has bedded both and has no particular overbearing preference. Still, being surrounded by only men for the past six months and now seeing this beauty before him is having an unanticipated effect.

Blinking dumbly, Gilgamesh takes another close look at the two men, then back at the gorgeous redhead. With none of them wearing the black cowl of an executioner, Gilgamesh doesn't know quite what to make of things.

“Ah, yes, please disrobe, we’ll be with you in a moment,” the elder says, shifting his attentions from the white mixture briefly to Gilgamesh. “She’s here if you need her.” He jerks his chin towards the redhead.

Utterly lost, Gilgamesh looks to the redhead, her hip seductively popped to the side, to the elder, to the journeyman stirring the bowl.

“Oh—if you need to relieve yourself, best do that now. There’s a piss pot behind the plant.” The elder points to the very same papyrus Gilgamesh hid himself (poorly) behind last week. “Plaster takes a bit to dry.”

Gilgamesh just blinks. “Plaster…?”

The elder rolls his eyes. “Yes, for the mold. Did no one tell you? Where’s the letter?”

Gilgamesh shifts his weight between his feet, trying his damndest not to ogle the redhead’s breasts, as the elder rummages through his belongings, finally coming across a rolled sheet of parchment. Clearing his throat, he reads, “By order of the crown Prince, Ardyn, blah blah, yada yada… Have been so contracted to take a mold of the concubine Gilgamesh’s erect manhood, etcetera, etcetera… Expenses to be provided for the services of one redheaded whore, her services to be rendered as needed.” The elder rerolls the parchment and shrugs. “Satisfied?”

Gilgamesh can do little else but nod dumbly. _If he can’t have the real thing, he’ll get it in any way he can…_

All in all, having a mold taken of his cock to be rendered into a hyper realistic dildo is far better than losing his head. And really, Gilgamesh thinks as he disrobes, avoiding the welcoming touch of the redhead, he’s glad to discover Ardyn has a sense of humor to him.

Still, with three expectant onlookers watching on as Gilgamesh has to bring himself to hardness, he comes to think that there has to be an easier way to _maybe_ give Ardyn what he wants. And if Ardyn’s too proud to show his face in the harem, it seems there’s only one thing Gilgamesh needs to do.


End file.
